


Heartbeats

by ExultedShores



Series: A Heart That Isn't Here [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Daud (Dishonored), Asexual Relationship, Deleted Scenes, Found Family, Gen, Heart!Corvo, M/M, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2019-11-26 23:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExultedShores/pseuds/ExultedShores
Summary: A collection of extra/deleted scenes from myA Heart That Isn't Hereseries.





	1. Boat ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas escorts Emily to the Hound Pits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since _What the Dead Know By Heart_ is from Daud's pov, I couldn't put this scene in the main story. But I like it too much not to share, so please have this little tidbit from Thomas' pov!
> 
> Chronologically, this scene takes place immediately after chapter 10 of _What the Dead Know By Heart_ (and runs simultaneous with the first part of chapter 11).

_“Thomas,” Emily declares immediately, to absolutely no one’s surprise. “I want Thomas to come with us.”_

_“As you wish, Empress.”_

Thomas, personally, would much rather swim the length of the Wrenhaven River back to the Hound Pits than endure an hour-long boat ride with Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin I. But Daud is asking him to guard the child, and he will do anything for Daud.

So he clambers into Samuel’s little boat and offers Emily his hand, which she takes with only the slightest hint of trepidation, her other hand still clutched tightly to her chest as if she’s holding on to some precious object. Maybe she is, in her mind. With how long she’s been in captivity – with how long they’ve _allowed_ her to remain in captivity – it’s no wonder she’s turned to her imagination to find some form of escape. He knows better than most what it’s like to be trapped, his own years of living in his father’s oppressive household making him appreciate what he has now all the more. His very continued existence he owes to Daud.

The first leg of the trip isn’t all that bad. Samuel makes good on his promise to show Emily how to steer _Amaranth_ , going over the various parts of the ship and explaining how to handle the throttle and the rudder, even allowing her to steer for a while when they’re in open waters. Thomas focusses on his duty, watching the river for other vessels and determining their level of threat. Twice he tells Samuel to alter his course so they can avoid a potentially problematic encounter, but other than that he is the epitome of the silent, watchful protector.

But Samuel can only teach the girl so much while also navigating the waters, and Emily takes to watching the river with Thomas. “Do any pirates ever sail here?” she asks.

“Not that I know of,” Samuel answers, but Thomas begs to differ.

“The Dead Eels patrol the river,” he says, even if their presence has diminished since Edgar Wakefield forcibly took control from Elizabeth Stride. “They’re based at Draper’s Ward.”

“The Dead Eels?” Emily asks, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “That’s a weird name for a group of pirates. Eels can’t swim when they’re dead.”

Thomas makes a mental note never to introduce Emily to Lizzy, lest he wants another dead Empress on his hands. “I never thought to inquire about the name, Your Majesty.”

“Have you ever fought one of them?”

“No,” Thomas says. Back when Lizzy was still in charge, she and Daud made it a point to keep their gangs away from each other out of mutual respect. He doubts Wakefield will be so kind, if push comes to shove, but Emily doesn’t need to know that. “It’s not been necessary.”

“I wanted to be a pirate when I was little,” Emily says, as if she’s not still so very young. “Pirates can go wherever they want! But Corvo says they have to kill people too, and I don’t want to do that. So I guess I’ll just be Empress.”

“A wise decision, Your Majesty,” Thomas agrees, keeping his face forcefully neutral, even though her casual mention of Corvo Attano has his stomach in knots. He’s the one who took him from her life, the one who tore away her father like Daud did her mother. Only she knows exactly what role Daud played in the death of her parents. She has no idea of his.

It’s as if she can read his thoughts, her gaze flicking briefly to her palm, formed into a claw as if holding something, before she looks back at him. “Were you there?” she asks, in that small voice that reminds him she’s only ten years old. “When…?”

Emily doesn’t need to finish the question. “Yes,” Thomas chokes out, not able to meet her eye, the accusatory glare of this child whose life he helped ruin. And then, before he can stop himself, he confesses. “I killed your father.”

He can hear Samuel gasp from his position at the helm, but his focus is on the girl beside him, the girl who regards him not with shock or fear, but with a detached calculation. “Why?”

“He went for Daud,” Thomas says. He doesn’t quite recall how everything happened, the whole mess hardly more than a blur in his mind, but he remembers Attano breaking free from Fergus’ tether, entirely unexpectedly, and lunging at Daud and Jessamine Kaldwin. Daud could have taken him – he was unarmed and emotional, showing none of the composed swordsman he’d been as he desperately ran for the woman he loved. But all Thomas could see was an exceptional warrior rushing at the man _he_ loves, and raising his sword to catch Attano’s neck had been instinctive more than anything.

He dreams of it every night. He feels the guilt over murdering an honourable man eating at him every second. He hates himself for leaving this young girl an orphan, when the contract only called for the life of her mother.

But if it means protecting Daud, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Emily’s hand tightens briefly around the air. “You were protecting him.”

“Yes.”

“Daud said he was protecting _you_ ,” she says. “He said the Spymaster would have killed his family if he didn’t kill Mother.”

Thomas forces himself to look at her, taking every bit of her scorn as his rightful punishment. “He would have,” he confirms. They should have gone into hiding, or organised a pre-emptive strike on Burrows, or even warned the Empress of the contract on her head. But it was both easier and more lucrative to just follow the Spymaster’s orders. It was supposed to be just another contract, after all. Except it wasn’t.

He should have anticipated her next question, but it still catches him by surprise. “Are you sorry you killed him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Thomas breathes.

Emily looks at him for a long moment, holding his gaze intently as if she’s trying to see straight into his soul. It takes all of his willpower not to look away.

“You’re honest,” she says eventually, evenly. “I like that.”

Well, as long as he’s an honest murderer.


	2. Cleared for duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is cleared for duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little snippet was actually the original opening of chapter 17 of _What the Dead Know by Heart_ , but I felt it undercut the more emotionally laden chapter too much, so I left it out.

“A masquerade ball?”

Thomas, the bastard, sounds unapologetically amused.

“Yes,” Daud confirms through clenched teeth, cursing the sham his life has become. It says a lot about him that he would rather spend an evening traipsing around the sewers than attempt to navigate the treacherous waters of high society. “You’re going too, _Lord Carmine_.”

Thomas snorts at the use of his old title, but then his face melts into a warm smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Daud swears his heart skips a beat at that, and Corvo chuckles within his pocket. “There are rather more men than women invited to the Boyles’ soiree,” he reveals. “It’s not uncommon for two gentlemen to share a dance when there are no ladies available.”

Not for the first time, Daud laments his inability to tell Corvo to just shut up while in the presence of others. “I’m having Feodor forge invitations, and Yuri is securing us proper attire,” he says, focusing on the details of the mission to avoid thinking of anything less appropriate. “I want us to return to the Hound Pits in the meantime, to keep an eye on things.”

“Us?” Thomas asks, trying and failing to keep the hope from his voice.

Daud looks down at his papers to hide his fond smile. “If you’re up for it, that is.”

“Of course,” Thomas says promptly. Even if his stab wound was bleeding and infected, Daud doubts he’d have said anything else.

“I don’t know,” he muses, tapping his chin. “Maybe I should ask Kent whether it’s responsible to put you out in the field again so soon.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Thomas hastens to say, but it’s too late. Daud’s Mark flares, and Kent appears before them seconds later.

Kent takes one look at his two seemingly healthy superiors and raises an eyebrow. “What do you need, sir?”

“I’m heading out,” Daud announces. “I need to know if Thomas is healed enough to join me.”

The physician’s brow furrows. “I don’t think –”

He stops short at the positively murderous look in Thomas’ eyes, promising severe retribution for finishing that sentence the way he planned to. Kent swallows thickly. Thomas is generally so stoic and soft-spoken it’s absolutely terrifying to see him look the way he does now. “I don’t think he needs to stay here any longer, sir,” he corrects quickly. “He’s clear.”

Daud levels him with a penetrating stare. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“I believe,” Kent begins, choosing his words with great care, “that this course of action will lead to the least amount of permanent injuries.” For all parties involved.

Daud accepts that. “Very well. Thomas, prepare your gear.”

Thomas doesn’t need to be told twice. He leaves Daud’s office, giving Kent a pat on the shoulder with quite a bit more force than necessary when he passes.

“Thank you, Kent,” Daud says absentmindedly, already gathering bolts and remedies for himself. “Dismissed.”

Kent goes without another word, and Daud smiles to himself. If Thomas is well enough to bully Kent into lying, he’s most definitely well enough to stand up to the Loyalists.


	3. Breaking the news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was cleaning up my writing folder and I found this little piece I thought I'd deleted! This was the original opening of chapter 22 of _What the Dead Know by Heart_ , but it dragged on a bit and took away from the objective. I do love it an awful lot, though, since Whaler shenanigans are my favourite thing, so have some found family goodness!

They will strike on the First of Harvest.

The guardsmen of the City Watch receive their monthly allowance of the first Day of each month, and without the additional funds Waverly Boyle provided, Burrows won’t be able to cover the full amount of their salaries. Once Burrows’ guard realises they won’t receive their dues, security is sure to let up around Dunwall Tower.

Until it’s time, there is still plenty to do, not the least of which is formulating a plan of attack. Of course, Daud and his men infiltrated the palace before, but they had an ally on the inside, back then. Burrows had planned everything meticulously, ensuring the Empress and her daughter would be outside when Daud struck. There’s never been any reason for Daud or his men to actually set foot inside the Tower. Until now, at least. Burrows hasn’t left his little fortress in weeks now, not since Daud and Thomas rescued Emily Kaldwin from the Golden Cat. He won’t come to them; they’ll have to go to him.

Daud anticipates long days pouring over floorplans and meeting with his senior Whalers at Rudshore, while also keeping his promises to Emily to teach her how to fight and to return her father’s Heart to her every night. It’ll be a busy time.

But first and foremost, he’ll have to tell his people they won’t be leaving for Serkonos any time soon.

He’s more anxious about it than he’ll ever admit.

“They’ll understand,” Thomas says encouragingly during the trip back to Rudshore. “I daresay most of us will be glad. Spy work seems more exciting than vinification.”

“As you say, Lord Spymaster,” Daud quips. “They’ll be under your command, after all.”

Thomas laughs softly. “The Whalers will always be under your command,” he counters, before adding, with no small amount of cheek: “Lord Protector.”

“Lord Protector,” Daud repeats the title, a hint of disgust clinging to every syllable. “I can practically hear the Outsider laughing at me.”

“Oh, he is,” Corvo affirms, sounding pretty upbeat himself. “He finds the whole turn of events positively _fascinating_.”

Daud rolls his eyes. Fucking black-eyed bastard and his annoyingly useful gifts…

When they arrive at the Commerce Building, Daud immediately calls for a meeting.

The Whalers file in quickly, despite the short notice, and Daud spends a minute just regarding the collective force of his men. It’s strange to think that this is the last time they’ll have an audience like this, that Burrows is the last target they’ll be taking down, though it is certainly a fitting finale. It’s a rarity how little Daud regrets of the past few months, since his decision to stop killing for coin, but he does mourn the end of this era, even if he knows it is the right path. He’s led the Whalers for years, and despite their profession, he’s built a decent life here, with them. That everything is about to change feels… odd.

Daud clears his throat, and commands every one of his Whalers’ attention at once.

“On the First of Harvest,” he begins, his voice carrying a weight felt by the entire room, “we take down Hiram Burrows.”

The response to that single statement is explosive, an almost animalistic chorus of stomps and cheers erupting from the Whalers. Daud lets it wash over him, takes strength from the enthusiasm of his men. It’s all of them against one shadow of a man, and they can do this.

He waits for the noise to taper off on its own before he takes control again. “Because of the work we’ve been doing, Burrows is no longer in control of Parliament, the Overseers, and the City Watch. Dunwall Tower is more vulnerable than it’s ever been,” he announces, a hint of pride in his voice. “Which also means Burrows is more paranoid than he’s ever been, and we cannot afford to become complacent. The next few days will be devoted to creating an ironclad strategy for taking the bastard down, and I want all of you to be prepared and ready to fight, should the need arise.”

“Yes, Master Daud,” the unison rings out loud and clear.

Daud allows himself a brief smile. “This will be our last job. Let’s make it our best.”

The tension fades from the room at his words; they are at the end of his speech, and this is usually the point where he dismisses his men. But not today. “There is… one other thing,” he announces. “In regards to the future.”

“You picked out a place for us to go, boss?” Killian asks eagerly.

“Is it Cullero? It’s Cullero, right? Please tell me it’s Cullero!” Jenkins exclaims.

“Outsider’s eyes, not Cullero,” Hobson sighs wearily. “That place is like a damn furnace all year ‘round.”

“You can’t possibly prefer this hellhole?” Misha demands, her nose scrunched up in disgust. “There’s nothing but rain here!”

Hobson sniffs. “That, at least, ensures Kieron gets something resembling a shower every once in a while.”

“Come on man, why do you have to drag me into this?” Kieron whines amidst poorly concealed sniggers from his peers. “I bathe! Like, at least once a month!”

“Ugh, you are disgusting.” This comes from Quinn, who actually takes a step away from Kieron, brushing shoulders with Misha in a very unsubtle manner.

“Ah Quinny, you know you love me.”

“Yeah, like a pain in the –”

“ _Quinn_ ,” Thomas’ voice cuts through the room like a whip, and the Whalers fall silent so swiftly it’s as if Daud himself ordered the quiet.

Daud seizes the rare moment of silence to make his announcement. “I won’t be leaving for Serkonos, and neither will Thomas,” he sighs, the distant dream of retirement in the sunny countryside exactly that – a distant, distant dream. “We’re staying in Dunwall.”

“Her Majesty has asked us to serve in her court,” Thomas clarifies. “We accepted.”

Rulfio is the first to recover enough to comment. “In _court_?” he splutters, his expression equally horrified and intrigued at the same time. “What in the Void…?”

What in the Void, indeed, Daud thinks sardonically. “The Empress will need a new Royal Protector and Spymaster, to replace her father and Burrows,” he explains, the absurdity of it all still making him shake his head. “She’s decided the best people for those jobs are myself and Thomas, respectively.”

“You’re shittin’ us,” Patrick says flatly, looking from Daud to Thomas as though he’s waiting for one of them to admit it’s all in jest. “You’re shittin’ us, right?”

Daud’s wry smile is hollow at best. “Have I ever made a joke?”

“Fuck,” is Patrick’s eloquent response.

“Alright, so the new Empress is nuts,” Jenkins states, her voice laced with too much false cheer in a failed attempt to disguise her unease. “Where does that leave us?”

“You are free to go wherever you wish,” Daud answers, because he won’t force his people to serve the crown just because their leader chose to. “I have enough coin stashed to send each and every one of you to Serkonos, if that’s what you want. But if you choose to stay, I have it on good authority the new Royal Spymaster is hiring.”

“The new Royal Spymaster also doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’s doing,” Thomas adds mildly, “so apply at your own risk.”

Feodor guffaws. “Can’t be worse than your predecessor, Thom,” he says, and Void if that isn’t the truth. “Just keep the deadly Pandyssian diseases in Pandyssia, yeah?”

“I’ll do my level best.”


	4. Waking up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little tidbit from Thomas' point of view that I can't put into the main story. It takes place between chapters 23 and 24 of _What the Dead Know by Heart_ , but to avoid spoilers I'd hold off on reading this until after you've read chapter 25!

When Thomas wakes, he is comfortable.

The mattress underneath his back is soft, the pillow supporting his head plump, the blanket covering him thick and warm. It feels as though he is resting in his old bed, the four-poster he had when he was a lord’s son living in a grand estate.

It’s that horrifying thought that propels him upright.

The room he’s in is not, as he’d briefly, irrationally feared, the bedroom of his childhood, though it is undoubtedly a noble’s chamber. The furnishings are lavish; gold threaded through the rugs, jewels set in snuffboxes, an ornate painting adorning the wall. Thomas can hardly stand the sight of it.

Worse is the fact that he’s definitely never been in this room before, and he has no notion as to how he got here.

Trying to stand proves a less than stellar idea, as his legs adamantly refuse to provide him with proper support, so Thomas sits atop the comforter, holding his aching head in his hands. At least he’s allowed free movement, and he’s still clothed, though he’s been stripped of his weapons. He feels more like a guest than a prisoner, but Thomas has long since learned that making assumptions is an easy way to get oneself killed. He needs to know where he is, and why he’s here.

His last memories are of the impromptu party at the Hound Pits after he and Daud returned from Dunwall Tower, but they’re hazy, as though he’s viewing them through a fogged-up window. Emily made a drawing, he recalls, and Sokolov… kissed Piero? No, that can’t be right.

He remembers feeling faint, and Daud, holding him, helping him upstairs. And then…

Music.

Falling, pain, unintelligible voices.

Then – nothing.

He’s on his feet before he realises it, ignoring his body’s cry for more rest. He needs answers. He needs to know how he got here, what happened while he was unconscious, and, most importantly, if Daud is alright.

Thomas attempts to call on the Void to look through the walls, but the Void does not answer him. It means one of two things: Daud has been cut off from his magic, or he is…

No. Daud is not dead. He won’t even consider that possibility.

He’s without his powers and without his weapons, and he feels beyond vulnerable, but Thomas leaves the safety of his room anyway. He’s grateful for his lessons in fencing, which taught him to be light on his feet, and the instructions he received once he joined the Whalers, which taught him how to stick to the shadows and appear invisible to the naked eye.

He creeps along the corridor, listening briefly at each door he passes. It’s about midday, if he judges the light streaming through the windows correctly, and the upper floor of the manor seems deserted, but Thomas prefers to be careful. It won’t do for a maid to unwittingly stumble upon him and scream bloody murder, after all.

He’s right to be on his guard, for he can see shadows moving through the crack under the door of the room closest to the staircase, and muffled voices carry into the hallway.

“– can’t get there without a proper vessel.”

Thomas knows that voice. It’s Rulfio’s.

“What about the old man’s boat? It’s been useful before.” That’s Kieron.

“That thing can carry three of us, max. We need numbers, Kier.” Jenkins.

“Aye. Without our magic, we’re done fucked if we try to storm that place with three people.” And Patrick.

Thank the Void. He’s not behind enemy lines, and he’s not alone.

He enters.

Rulfio whips around to face him. “I told you we don’t want to be –” He stops short when he sees Thomas. “– disturbed,” he finishes weakly. “Void, Thom, you really shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“I shouldn’t have been in bed to begin with,” Thomas counters sharply. “What happened while I was out?”

No one answers him.

“Rulfio,” he addresses the Whalers’ third-in-command directly, “where is Daud?”

Rulfio can’t manage to look him in the eye. “He’s in Coldridge.”

It’s as though someone has landed a punch in his gut, stealing his breath and bringing up bile. His world tilts, and he nearly falls with it, but he manages, somehow, to stay upright. He cannot fall. If Daud is gone, then Thomas is in charge of the Whalers, and he will not break when he is needed most.

He allows himself one deep inhale, one slow exhale, to compose himself. “What about the others?” he asks next, his tone carefully neutral. “Did everyone make it out of Rudshore?”

“Yes, thank Void,” Jenkins answers him, with none of her usual cheer. “Your boatman came to warn us. We got out long before the Overseers came to look, and we took the boss’ documents. They won’t find a damn thing that leads back to us.”

That, at least, is good news. “And the Empress?” He can only assume she’s out of their hands, somehow, because she would never have allowed anyone to lock up Daud. “Who has her?”

“Havelock and Martin,” Rulfio says, and that’s… not as much of a surprise as it should be. Thomas has distrusted the Overseer from the start, and the Admiral was always too close to him. “They took Daud, and the Empress.”

There are a lot of questions as to the how and why of it, but for now, there is only one thing Thomas wants to know. “Where are they?”

“Kingsparrow Island.”

Voiddammit. That place is as much a fortress as Coldridge is.

He feels inclined to bury his hands in his hair and scream, just to release some of the panic coiling in his chest, but he squashes down the urge. “Alright,” he says instead, calmly. “I assume you’ve already begun preparations for infiltrating either stronghold?”

Patrick grins at him. “Sure thing, boss,” he says easily. “Dredged up maps and everythin’. All we need is an actual plan, and we’re good to go.”

Thomas glances at the mess of papers strewn all over the coffee table, and asks his most dreaded question yet. “How long do we have?”

“Daud’s execution is scheduled for the 24th,” Rulfio sighs, “so we have less than three weeks.”

Less than three weeks. Less than three weeks before they kill the man he loves. Less than three weeks to bring the Empire back from the brink.

“Talk me through what you have so far,” Thomas demands.

“Thom,” Rulfio says softly, “you should be resting. You were poisoned, for Void’s sake.”

Thomas levels him with an utterly unimpressed stare. “I don’t have time to rest,” he proclaims, drawing himself up high – his noble’s posture. “If you honestly believe I’m going to lie in bed while Daud is marked for execution and Emily is at the mercy of the likes of Havelock and Martin, you’ve got another thing coming.”

He pulls up a chair and sits, trying not to let show how relieved he is to be off his feet. “Now talk me through what you have so far,” he says again, forcefully.

“Voiddammit,” Rulfio curses, but there’s no bite in it. “You’re just as pig-headed as Daud.”

“Thank you,” Thomas deliberately misinterprets the insult as a compliment.

Rulfio snorts and slides a file across the table, shaking his head.

“Welcome back, boss.”


	5. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some relationship negotiation and fluff that didn't fit within the 5+1 format of _How Much the Heart Can Hold_ ; takes place a few weeks after the events of the first chapter of that fic.

Inevitably, some three weeks after Thomas began living in the Royal Protector’s quarters and sharing Daud’s bed, he is awoken when Daud extracts himself from his hold almost frantically, scrambling out from under the covers without any apparent preamble.

Blinking blearily, Thomas lifts his head up to regard him, standing in the middle of the room with his arms wrapped around himself. He looks as though he’s just awoken from a nightmare. “Daud?”

Daud starts at the sound of his voice, raspy from sleep, but he doesn’t turn to face Thomas. “Go back to sleep,” he orders, though it comes out too strangled to have any sort of authority. “I’m fine.”

He’s clearly not fucking fine, and Thomas will not go back to sleep when Daud is so obviously distressed. He couldn’t if he tried. He hauls himself out of bed, shivering when the cold morning air hits his bare chest, and he pads over to where Daud is standing like a statue.

“Daud,” he says again, his voice clearer this time, “what is it?”

He lays a hand on Daud’s shoulder, a gesture meant to be comforting, but Daud flinches violently, pulling away from the contact. “Don’t,” he snarls, more viciously than he has ever spoken to Thomas before. “Don’t touch me.”

Thomas cradles his hand to his chest as though he’s been burned, concern weighing heavily on his shoulders. He steps back, giving Daud the space he seems to need so desperately, and tries once again. “Daud, please. What’s wrong? If I did something –”

“No,” Daud interrupts him immediately, firmly. “I just…” He sighs, a long, weary exhale that speaks of suffering, and finally turns to face Thomas.

And the problem becomes apparent immediately, Daud’s pants stretched tightly over what appears to be an impressive morning erection. Thomas stares at it for perhaps a second too long before he drags his eyes up to Daud’s face, which is contorted in palpable discomfort.

“I don’t want this,” Daud enunciates unequivocally, jerking his head sharply downward. “I don’t want any of this.”

“Alright,” Thomas says calmly. He’s known of Daud’s disregard for sexual intimacy for years now, just like nearly all the Whalers. This isn’t news. “I could go, if you prefer.”

Daud seems to consider that, but in the end he shakes his head. “No. Stay.”

“Alright,” Thomas says again. He has to squash the urge to reach for Daud, the understanding of his adversity to touch at this moment not doing anything to quell Thomas’ desire to want to hold him when he’s this shaken up. He links his hands behind his back to hide his twitching fingers, falling into the familiar parade rest he tends to adapt when idle. It’s one of the most natural positions for him, and yet it feels inherently wrong in this setting. He isn’t just a Whaler under Daud’s command anymore, and this shouldn’t be their dynamic.

But this is what Daud needs right now.

Daud turns away from him again, shuffling over to the chairs by the fireplace and all but collapsing into one. He sits wide-legged, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a while, he just breathes.

“Thomas,” he calls eventually, nodding sharply at the other chair when Thomas looks over at him.

Thomas obeys, sitting across from Daud with his hands folded in his lap. “Daud?”

Daud inhales shakily. “I don’t want to have sex,” he says, in that blunt manner so typical of him.

“I know.”

“Ever,” Daud clarifies. “With anyone.”

“I know.”

A self-deprecating laugh forces its way from Daud’s throat. “I thought it might be different this time,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’ve always been different, so I thought I might _want_ …” He rakes a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, agitated. “But I don’t.”

“Alright,” Thomas nods, unable to keep a smile from tugging his lips upward. Merely hearing Daud say he regards Thomas differently than he does anyone else is enough to make his heart sing. “Then we won’t.”

Daud levels him with a piercing stare. “But you want to,” he says, almost accusatorily. “You have urges. Needs.”

He’d be lying if he said he never thought about having sex with Daud, that he never fantasised about it, in the rare moments of privacy he got back at the base. But he would never want to do anything of the sort with an unwilling partner, and there are, to him, much more important things than sex. “I do,” he agrees, because he won’t be dishonest with Daud. “I also have two well-functioning hands.”

Daud snorts. “For Void’s sake, Thomas.”

“I’m serious,” Thomas says firmly. He needs Daud to understand this. “I have urges, yes. But I don’t need anyone to take care of those for me.” He reaches for Daud, wanting to take his hand, but he remembers himself at the last second. “What I do need is _you_.”

Daud grabs his hand when he pulls it back, tracing his thumb over the large burn scar that sits atop the back of it. “You deserve to be happy, cariño.”

“I am,” Thomas assures him, because he truly, truly is. He kneels before Daud, grasping Daud’s hand between both of his own. “I’ve been in love with you since the day you gave me my life, Daud,” he murmurs, his eyes downcast. “And this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

In a heartbeat, Daud rips his hand away, and there is a split second in which Thomas feels despair gripping his heart. But then Daud kneels with him and his hands are on Thomas’ cheeks, cradling his face like it’s made of fine china, and Daud kisses him with unexpected fervour, again and again and again.

“Thank you,” Daud breathes against his lips, “for being mine.”

As if he would ever want to be anything but.

“Always.”


	6. Viejo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little moment between Daud and Emily that happens just before chapter 2 of _How Much the Heart Can Hold_.

It’s been a long day.

Between the parliamentary meeting, the arrival of several foreign dignitaries, and the mountain of correspondence sent to the Empress’ desk, both Emily and Daud are decidedly exhausted and disgruntled by the time he’s seeing her back to her chambers for the night.

“I hate Lady Prismall,” Emily grumbles, stomping through the corridors in a decidedly unladylike manner that would have Callista’s hair standing on end. “She asks the same thing every meeting! Like we haven’t told her a thousand times that we need to focus on draining the Flooded District right now! But no, she needs to have a whole new vote _every time_ like it’ll change anything!”

Daud is inclined to agree. “I’m sure Thomas has something on the Prismalls, if you want her to stop.”

Emily frowns. “No,” she says quickly. “That’s not… that’s not how Mother would have handled it. As long as the others don’t go along with her, it’s okay, right? It won’t hurt us.”

“I don’t know about you, but listening to her talk tends to give me a headache,” Daud counters.

“It does, her voice is so shrill!” Emily agrees eagerly, laughing at the grimace on Daud’s face. “But I’m the Empress. I can handle her.”

Daud doesn’t doubt that for a moment. “Of course you can,” he smiles proudly, marvelling at this girl and how she manages to take everything in stride so easily.

At twelve years old, still a child in every aspect, Emily Kaldwin is an exceptional Empress. She’s still learning every day, but her mother set her a fine example, and Emily knows when to ask her advisors for assistance and when she can make her own rulings. Everything she does, she does fairly. If she wanted to, she could make full use of Thomas’ network of spies and have all of Parliament in the palm of her hand. None of her decisions would ever be opposed, with the threat of blackmail hanging above the nobles’ heads. Emily Kaldwin could rule as a dictator, if she were so inclined.

But she isn’t. She is goodhearted, just like her mother wanted her to be, and already her people are dubbing her Emily the Just.

Her parents would be proud.

When they reach Emily’s quarters, it’s easy to fall into the evening routine that’s become so familiar to both of them by now. Emily changes into her pyjamas and brushes her teeth while Daud cleans up her desk and ensures everything that needs Emily’s signature has been signed and squared away. Then, once she’s safely underneath the covers, Daud reads to her, as he has every night since the day he took her away from Kingsparrow Island. Perhaps she’s too old to have someone read her bedtime stories, twelve and more mature than any child he’s known, but she hasn’t asked him to stop, and so he hasn’t stopped.

He reads to her in Serkonan tonight, the book Emily chose written in her father’s native tongue. She doesn’t fully understand all of it, but she’s picking up the second language remarkably easily, and she likes to listen to a native speaker. It’s cathartic, for both of them.

“Oh, before I forget,” Emily says when he’s finished and she’s securely tucked in, “Callista let me invite Alexi over for tea tomorrow, but you kind of scare her, even if she won’t say so. Could you ask Rulfio to be my bodyguard, just for the morning?”

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted,” Daud deadpans, but he speaks truthfully. Rulfio, and all the other Whalers for that matter, love Emily. He’ll jump at the opportunity to guard her, if only so he can get out of whatever paperwork Thomas is sure to have for him.

“Alright,” Emily mumbles sleepily, stifling a yawn. “Thanks, Dad.”

Daud freezes.

Emily does too, staring at him with wide, panicked eyes.

Daud stumbles back, away from this child who is not his, and the movement snaps Emily from her horrified daze. “You’re not my father!” she blurts out, her voice pitched far too high. “You’re not!”

“I know!” Daud barks back at her. “I know that!”

And then she bursts into tears and Daud holds her like he is the father she doesn’t have anymore because of him and he fights tears of his own because he has no right to cry when it’s Emily who has lost and he has only taken.

When her sobs have subsided to hiccoughs and he’s fairly certain he’s able to speak without his voice cracking, Daud clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Emily pulls away and glares up at him. “Stop always saying that!” she snaps. “It isn’t your fault!”

Daud’s eyebrows reach for his hairline, and she wipes angrily at her tears. “Mother and Corvo would have died anyway,” she says, and though her voice hitches, she follows through. “Burrows wouldn’t have let them live. Someone else would have killed them, or there would have been a carriage accident, or… or _something_. Except then I would’ve been alone. You and Thomas wouldn’t have come to save me, and Burrows would still be Regent, and the plague would still be here, and – and everything would be worse.” She breathes deeply, a calm settling over her as she rants. “I hate what happened. I hate it and I wish Mother and Corvo were still here every day. But I’m not alone. I have Callista and Alexi and Thomas and you, and that’s enough.”

There’s only one nail left to hammer his coffin shut. “You protect me and you teach me how to fight and you sneak me your apricot tartlet at dinner because you know they’re my favourite. You are not my father,” she says again, “but I do love you like one.”

And that does it. For the first time in over thirty years, Daud can feel tears streaming down his cheeks.

Emily hugs him again, and that does not help.

It’s an embarrassingly long time before he’s able to compose himself. “I haven’t cried since I was twelve,” he divulges, his throat raw. He didn’t even know he still could.

“Me neither,” Emily says, because she _is_ twelve.

Daud snorts a rough laugh, though he still feels as though he might burst into tears again at any moment. “Go to sleep, reinita. I think we’ve tortured one another enough for one day.”

“Okay,” she agrees, and then adds, with no small amount of cheek: “viejo.”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, choosing instead to briefly kiss her forehead before he transverses from her bedroom, across the hall to his own quarters, trying and failing not to dwell on the fact that the Empress has just quite literally dubbed him ‘old man’.

It’s only when he’s safely hidden in the comfort of Thomas’ arms that he feels like some semblance of himself again.


End file.
